


Chasing Stars

by stickylips14



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M, Sometime after Prince Lestat, a bit of fluff really, undistinguished setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickylips14/pseuds/stickylips14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armand has always been beautiful, especially when he sleeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Stars

They had chased the stars across the sky for the equivalent of two nights now, and although the proud cherub would never admit it, Armand didn’t have the stamina for such things yet, not like Marius. Only an hour into their night at a swanky, American beachfront hotel, had he dozed off on a modern chaise lounge of hard lines and leather. A book dropped on his chest with one thin, pale hand laid lightly over the spine while the other rested near his cheek, tapered fingers catching on auburn curls, still tousled as they were by the wind. He had it kept long these nights because Marius liked it that way—but he wouldn’t admit to that, either.

What a delight he was to look upon in his finely tailored slacks and waistcoat, the jacket thrown over the back of the chaise lounge, the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled up against his forearms. Like always, he wore jewelled rings on his fingers, the artificial light making them gleam and spark.

Like a normal mortal boy he looked with his eyes closed in sleep. Like the boy he had been in Venice, beautiful, a cherub escaped from the painted ceiling of a chapel.

Only one element missing from this scene, and he knew what it was before he even opened his eyes to his Master draping it over him. Red velvet.

He opened his eyes to regard his Master, fine golden eyebrows quirking just a touch in an equally questioning and mocking gesture. Marius smiled that patient and small smile, reaching absently to untangle the curls from Armand’s fingers. “Indulge me, cherub.”

Armand said nothing in response, but didn’t resist, either, as his Master so carefully arranged every fold of the blanket around him, easing the book out from under his hand.

He moved away once it was done, back to the armchair he had been sitting in before, as much a vision as Armand in his modern kit of dark jeans and deep red, high necked sweater. His pale hair was pulled back and up into an artfully sloppy bun, as was the fashion for so many men these days, although Marius was unsure about whether he really like it.

Oh, but Armand! As beautiful as the day he was found, his pale face the core of a flame, flushed only a little by an illusion of light reflecting off the red of the velvet, making his petal mouth only all the more alluring.  
Ah, eternal child! Although he was no real child, his deep and soulful eyes told as much to anyone who could stand to look into them long enough. He should have died six or seven deaths by now, lost to old age and faded into memory over and over—but still, despite the blunder, Marius couldn’t say with real conviction that he regretted what he had done to keep this fallen angel near him, although near had not been what the fates allowed them. Not for so long, not until now when again Armand had agreed to come with him.

“Master, if you’re feeling nostalgic,” Armand started in that soft tone that made you feel like all his words were just for you, even when he addressed an entire room. Oh, but they were all Marius’ now. “for those days in Venice, then you’ve put far too much distance between us now.”  
He meant this quite literally, rather than addressing the wound of the centuries when they had never laid eyes upon one another, and suffered for it. He meant that Marius was too far away, sitting there in his arm chair and as if there needed anymore enticement to have the gap closed again; Marius gradually noticed the bright red that welled between Armand’s lips, slowly filling in the pen stroke lines, staining that beautiful mouth with blood.

That old trick, Armand had always been a quick learner and a powerful seducer, although his mere presence had often sent Marius into a quit frenzy. And now the smell of his blood was doing the same, sweet perfume gathering like a jewel on his bottom lip. But Marius prided himself on his control, so slowly he stood up, very human, out of his chair and he stepped so that his footfalls could be heard against the soft carpet. All of this seemed to madden Armand who watched his every move with those imploring brown eyes, set ablaze, shining amber under the chandelier light.

“My darling…” It was a whisper against those waiting lips, before the tip of Marius’ pale tongue darted out to collect that little offering that sent electric shocks through him—he was too old to need the blood, he could go days on end without needing a drink, but _oh_ , he had never craved it more than in this exact moment. His hands pushed into the soft, tangled curls, feeling Armand’s scalp with the pads of his fingers as he opened his mouth against the pliant one beneath it, running his tongue greedily along the inside of Armand’s mouth to collect all the blood he had spilled from a cut on the inside of his cheek, which he paid particular care and attention to before it sealed itself up.

He broke away, his hands moving to Armand’s cheeks, thumbs stroking reverently at the pale skin as if they could bring color to the surface. They couldn’t, but he knew another trick that would not fail.

“Master,” Truly now, Armand’s voice was for him alone, spoken in a soft whisper between them. “Like in Venice.”

Marius lifted him from the chaise as if he were nothing, like he always had. A bundle of soft limbs wrapped in velvet in his arms, just like that very first night except rather than to the bath, he took him to the hotel bedroom. Like the rest of the rooms, it was severely modern. The bed had no frame, just a rectangular headboard of dark wood with four plush, white pillows resting against it, with matching white linen and a black runner at the foot of the bed.

It had absolutely no appeal to him, not until he saw Armand laid out on it, the red velvet beneath him and one hand now quite purposefully tangled into his hair, twisting it into tight curls around his fingers in slow, particular movements. With quiet confidence he unbuttoned his waistcoat, leisurely, at a mortal pace that sent a chill through Marius as he was rather forced to watch.

The dress shirt was opened just as slowly, pushed to the sides to reveal the marble skin of Armand’s chest and stomach. Smooth and perfectly formed, like a statue come to life that not even Marius could have made to such a level of perfection. His eyes caught on the pale pink, pert nipples and the dip of his belly button and he didn’t wait for permission now to bend his head down to kiss just below this dip, parting his lips as he moved up along the flesh in slow, languid kisses. A sigh rose up out of Armand, soft and sweet and his hands didn’t stay idle for long, reaching out to stroke over the crown of Marius’ head, finding the tie that held his hair in place.

“Why do you wear it like this?” He scorned playfully, and in just a little flick of his wrist he pulled it free, watching with delight as all those pale blond waves fell down against his Master’s neck, over his ears, shielding the enthralled face as the kisses were laid over and over, up along his ribcage. He didn’t care for an answer, suddenly, when Marius’ mouth closed over one rosebud nipple and sucked, hard enough to make him gasp and gather up all that pale hair into his fists. He felt the little sting of his Master’s fangs pricking the sensitive skin, shallow, only enough to bring up a couple of drops which he licked away slowly to savour them. Torture, torture—Armand was no more patient now than he had been as a mortal boy!

Marius moved fast, his hand cradling the back of Armand’s head so that he could force it back enough to expose that flash of pale throat, before he sunk his teeth into it with glee, true glee. He might have moaned with the first gush of rich, sweet blood pouring onto his tongue. Armand certainly did, the crush of his knees against Marius’ sides a mere caress to the body of marble and the pull of his hands in his hair sent a sweet, hot sensation through his scalp.

“Master!” He was crying for the blood but was caught prone by the swoon of the draughts being drawn out of him, until almost impatiently Marius pressed his wrist to his open mouth. It was ravaged, torn open savagely but not a single drop of that ancient blood was wasted, caught by Armand’s eager tongue before his little mouth clamped over the wound and sucked hard, great mouthfuls at a time of pure bliss.

And then they were swimming together, strong hearts hammering together and Marius was stunned as his mind flooded with images—images he knew, but they weren’t coming from him. Armand was sending these to him. He saw the gold fringe of the baldaquin, the sheer red fabric closed around them. He felt the embroidery of the lion’s head on the bed cover. The flashes of skin he saw were illuminated only by candle light cast through the baldaquin. The body beneath him was his fragile, mortal Amadeo! So warm and flushed and breakable under his hands, his monstrous hands that roamed and rubbed at pliant limbs and scented hair.  
Amadeo!  
So sweet, this life blood that wouldn’t stop coming and that fierce heart hammering against his, refusing to give in. Ah, Marius could die from this joy! He was in ecstasy, and so was Armand.

The link broke; Armand was crying out as he let the wound on his Master’s wrist close up, smiling wide enough that his glistening teeth were visible as he licked away the last smears of blood. His cheeks were gloriously flushed. His lips and cheeks pink and sweet and human.  
Marius stared, enraptured. Lightly he dragged his thumb over the cherub’s bottom lip, bending down to kiss him when the tip of his thumb was sucked on. He gathered up those auburn curls and kissed them, too, and then the shell of his ear, flushed cheeks, eyelids and the tip of his nose and again he came back to that seductive little mouth. “ _Amadeo…_ ”

As an afterthought the last of Armand’s clothes were removed and he was again bundled up into the velvet throw and Marius held him to his chest, gently combing out his hair with his fingers. The color was already fading from his cheeks, returning back to smooth marble and Armand was tired. He wouldn’t admit it, but his mouth was slack and eyes glazed even as he tried to pick up where he had left off with his book. He scowled when Marius laughed at him.

“What?”

“You should go to sleep, young one, you can barely keep your head up.” Armand scoffed as he always did when he was called that. Over five hundred years in the Blood, but what was that to Marius, ancient Marius?

“And what about your pursuit of the stars, Sir?” He replied, closing his book and letting it slip from his hands. “You’ll lose track of them if we stay for too long.”

Marius’ lips pressed against his forehead in a smile. “Then I’ll chase different stars, Amadeo.”

Ever the reasonable Roman.

 Armand sighed and willed himself to untangle himself from velvet and limbs long enough to pull the drapes over the large windows of the bedroom and close the door, locking it with his hands rather than the Mind Trick. Marius had the good grace not to laugh as he crawled back into his nest of red velvet.

Such intimacy was a rare thing. Armand even went so far as to rest his head against his Master’s chest, who gently covered up Armand’s shoulders and tried to memorize this moment of contentment. They had had two months together now—no time at all—and somewhere at the back of his mind lingered some fear that fate would have its way again and they would go their separate ways, only to see one another briefly, in fleeting nights where there wasn’t time enough for them to drop their guard to this level of closeness again.

Ah, no time for those thoughts now. It was early still, not even midnight, but Marius resigned himself to his night long duty as his fledgling’s pillow, who was already deeply asleep in the mortal sense. Marius picked up the book Armand had abandoned. He pushed one hand into Armand’s hair and turned to the first page of the novel.

And in one last, fleeting moment of nostalgia he whispered, “Good night, my young love, my child love, my son… Amadeo.”


End file.
